When it Comes
by UselessWreckage
Summary: After a storm, something unusual washes ashore on a lake beach. There is some puzzlement, but there is one who has been waiting for this. For the Day 6 Prompt at this year's Merthur Party: Just the Beginning (Arthur's return). (Go Team Orange!)
1. Chapter 1

Thanks to sandsofpatience tumblr for the beta 3

* * *

One night, during one of those dismal summers that might as well have been called winters, a storm broke out and whipped the lake into a stir. This was not unusual; the area was often plagued by wind and rain, and nobody could live there without having a certain appreciation of the beauty of a storm. Perhaps that was why so few people actually did. If this particular storm was slightly more remarkable, then that was only noticed on the morning after, when a body washed ashore. Not a corpse, he was not dead. It was the living, breathing body of a man.

Of course, he _would_ have died, had it not been for the convenient fact that the village had its typical old tramp; that slightly nutty old fellow with a thousand nicknames, whose real name nobody could remember. He seemed to always have been there, and he seemed to have always been old, an ancient presence in the form of a gibbering homeless guy with no recorded history except his aimless roaming. He always seemed particularly preoccupied by the water - an old sailor, perhaps, it was not unheard of for them to fall into misfortune. He had spent the stormy night in a shed by the beach, one of those sad, crumbling structures that must belong to someone, but which nobody wants to take responsibility for. It was an eyesore, to be honest, rickety and ugly, it was a wonder it stayed up through those stormy nights, considering it looked as though a well-aimed sneeze would bring the whole thing down. For the old man, its continued existence was fortunate. It provided a much needed shelter against the elements and against the world, when he needed that. People knew he stayed there, of course, and that the shed in all likelihood was not his, but they pitied him, and nobody alerted whoever owned it - in fact, nobody really knew who owned it, so the trespassing didn't seem to matter. For all his eccentricities, the old tramp was one of _them_, and they would look out for him as they saw fit.

He walked along the beach often. Since he'd been sleeping in the shed, rambling along that well worn track seemed the obvious course of action on the morning after the storm. It was never different. Through the ages he had seen the world change, but what astonished him the most was how everything was, essentially, the same. And the walk, like everything else, never changed. It never changed until he saw the sparse, cloudy light suddenly reflect in golden hair, saw water bloated skin stretched over battle-won muscle, a young body sprawled on the rocks, hugged by freshwater seaweed. An onlooker would not be able to tell the way his heart jumped, though they would certainly be astonished at the pace with which this withered, worn character managed to run to the unconscious victim of the storm. Even more impressed would that onlooker be with the ease and efficiency the old man lifted the young, as if he had done it dozens of times before, and the youngling were no more than a babe. Just as well that there were no onlookers to be astonished.

He dragged the young man off the beach and to the nearest building, which was the village's only inn. The inn earned most of its money during the holiday seasons, but this year, because of the dreary weather, the guests had been few. Attending the reception, and by extension, the entire establishment, were two local girls in their late teens, Bridie and Surekha. Bridie had three years on her colleague, was employed in a superior position, and came from a family whose connection to the village could be traced further back, and so she naturally fancied herself a great deal more important than Surekha. Their summer job was excessively boring, however, and so she deigned to converse with her inferior about universities in London - one of which Bridie attended and several of which Surekha considered applying to - and to let her join in on bemoaning the fact that they were stuck here in this backwater when several friends of theirs were holidaying in such exotic places as Marbella and Alanya. However, when the door burst open and the nutty old tramp staggered in, carrying the weight of a rather handsome young man, they did get their share of excitement.

After gaping unhelpfully for a few moments, Bridie was the first to snap out of the shock.

"I'll call nine one one," she barked, "Surekha, don't just stand there, help him!"

"Are you sure you don't want to call the _local_ emergency services?" Surekha replied drily even as she ran to close the door firmly before helping the old man, "You do know that nine one one is the American number. Nine nine nine would be infinitely more helpful."

Bridie huffed, pretended she was not blushing, and was about to take that suggestion when the old tramp spoke up.

"There's no use calling an ambulance," he croaked, and it occurred to both girls that neither of them had ever heard him speak before. His voice was gruff and strange. If dried moss on a rock had a sound, it would sound like him. "It will only take up unnecessary time. I can take care of him."

Balancing a smartphone between her sparkling fake nails, Bridie eyed him skeptically.

"_You_ can take care of him?"

"I was a doctor once. He needs immediate attention."

She bit her lip, but then nodded. She would never be able to pinpoint why she complied with his crazy suggestion, but persuaded she was, and even Surekha, who Bridie had decided was quite the contrarian, didn't argue. There was something frightening about the old man. You wouldn't want to go against him.

"What are you waiting for? Get him up to a room, for god's sake! D'you want a death on your conscience?"

Surekha lead the way and the three of them hobbled off towards the ground floor rooms. Bridie took a deep breath and lifted her phone again. Even if an ambulance wasn't necessary, she figured contacting management and reporting the incident would not go amiss. Scrolling down her contact list, she stopped at M for Mum.

In room number five, the old man laid his patient down on the single bed. The young man groaned, half-conscious.

"We'll need to warm him up. Do you have a hot water bottle? A bucket would also be a good idea; he's likely to vomit."

Surekha nodded and hurried away just as the man's eyes blinked open. They were of a clear blue colour and stared up unfocused for a second before they settled on the old man's face, and he smiled weakly. He uttered a feeble sound, but it took a few tries before the syllables became audible.

"Merlin," he choked out in relieved recognition.

"Shh," Merlin whispered warmly, stroking a hand affectionately across the man's forehead.

"I don't know how I never recognised you. You are exactly the same… Your eyes…"

"Don't talk, Arthur. You've been out pretty bad, you shouldn't exert yourself right away."

Arthur looked for a moment as if he were about to argue, but then he relaxed and drifted off to sleep.

When Merlin came back out into the reception a while later, Bridie was in the company of her mother, Doreen, the innkeeper - or the hotel manager, as she liked referring to herself.

"He'll live," he announced.

"That's good," said Doreen in relief, "Who is this boy?"

"Oh, there's no need to worry about him. I will contact those who need to be contacted on his behalf. Oh," he said when he was halfway to the door, "I nearly forgot. Here is some money for the room. He should be out of there by the evening, but he will need a few more hours rest. And don't let him go anywhere on his own; I've no guarantee that he can take care of himself."

"Oh, but I can't take this," Doreen protested, alarmed that the old, penniless beggar was trying to give her money. God knows where he'd gotten it from.

"Nonsense. You take it and make sure he's fine and stays put until someone arrives to take care of him."

Doreen's mouth opened and closed a few times, before she gave up and nodded dumbly. Again he got what he wanted against everyone's better judgement. As she watched the old man leave, she wondered that he'd know the family of this strange person who she, who prided herself in knowing everyone there was to know in the village and surrounding area, had never seen before. _He really does know everything about everyone,_ she could not help thinking with a shiver, _who knows how long he has been watching us_. Barely an hour later, before any change had occurred with the lad, another unfamiliar creature arrived. This one seemed to be of an age with the sleeping one, just under thirty by the looks of it, but he was slightly less bulky, and with dark hair that curled a little, damp from the rain outside. It still baffled her that two grown men could just appear in the village out of nowhere. So far, only the old tramp in the shed seemed to know them, but she sure would ask around as soon as she left.

"Hi, er, I'm looking for my friend?" the strange boy said, and Doreen could see now that there was something implacably familiar about him after all. He looked sweet, with bright blue eyes and a childlike smile. If he'd been a little younger, she might have considered trying to set him up with Bridie.

"Yes, dear, he's in room number five! I'll show you the way. Bridie, you'll mind reception, won't you?"

The girl nodded as her mother fussed with the visitor.

"He was in a right state, or so I hear, of course, only the girls were in when old Beardy brought him in… He alerted you, I suppose?"

"He, er… Yeah."

"Found him by the lake, he said to Surekha. Lying in the water, no clothes or nothing."

"Yeah, I… I brought some for him."

"Good, good. What was your mate doing out last night, anyway? It was not the kind of weather I'd go drinking in, certainly not the kind of party that'll rob you of your clothes."

"Your guess is as good as mine. I'm just glad he's alright."

"Of course."

Doreen knocked the door to room number five once before opening, while the cogs in her brain still creaked to identify the boy, who she would now swear she'd met before, although she'd no idea where. Surekha was just placing another hot water bottle by the near-drowned man's feet.

"He's been really cold. The old doctor said to keep them as warm as possible," she explained.

"Yes, I… He's instructed me."

"Thank you, Surekha, dear," Doreen said with a bright smile, "You've done very well."

Surekha bowed her head, and with a self-satisfied smile, she left.

"What's his name, then?" asked Doreen.

"Arthur," the new arrival answered. The way he spoke the name sounded almost reverent, and there was a strange look on his face. It was as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing, one step down from outright staring at his friend in awe. Doreen continued her investigation with a small grin; she was beginning to get the picture.

"You been worried about him, then?"

This elicited a huff of laughter.

"You have no idea," he answered, his voice low. Then he turned to her. "You've been _so_ helpful, thank you ever so much for this. I don't want to hold you up any longer, I can take it from here."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure."

"Alright. If there's anything you need, you just call reception. No need to hesitate."

"Thank you."

When the door closed for the last time, behind Doreen's back, the worried young man was by his friend's side immediately. Holding his hand, he whispered a quiet "_Wæcce._" At the sound, Arthur's eyes flew open and he drew in a sharp breath. Once he'd gotten his bearings, he let it out in a laugh, and smiled warmly at Merlin.

"Now, that's a more familiar appearance."

"Well, you hardly look your age, so why should I?"

Arthur's brow furrowed.

"I don't look… My age? What do you mean by that?"

Merlin sighed slowly, wrapping both hands around Arthur's.

"What I am about to tell you isn't going to be easy to hear. I'm going to get it over with now, but I know you. You're going to want to throw things and hit me and possibly run out to kill something. But that's not going to be possible, because you're not well yet, Arthur. So promise me that whatever I say, you stay put in this bed."

"Promise," Arthur answered, still frowning, "Merlin, you're scaring me now. What is it? Did something happen? Is everyone alright? Is it Gwen? Gaius? What is going on?"

"Hush, Arthur. Calm down. What is the last thing you remember?"

"I remember journeying towards the lake. I remember the pain pretty well, too. I remember you… I never thought you could save me. And then, I dreamed… I dreamed of a woman… She said… I can't remember what she said. She knew you. God, it feels like I have been asleep for a man's age."

"More than that." Merlin drew a deep breath. "Arthur, you've been sleeping at the bottom of that lake for nearly one and a half thousand years."

Arthur responded with a blank stare.

"I've… I've what, now?" he eventually stuttered, utterly perplexed. "You can't be serious."

"I'm afraid I am. You were right, I couldn't save you. You died, Arthur, and was laid to rest before your destiny could be fulfilled. Our destiny. And I have watched the centuries go by, waiting for you to return."

"But then - Camelot. What happened?"

"The story is too long to tell in detail right now, it would be too much. You need to rest. I can tell you that Camelot thrived. Guinevere ruled for many years in your memory. You could not have chosen a better queen. Many advisors told her to remarry, but I couldn't bear seeing another king in what should have been your time - especially one who might overrule her. I advised her to keep the throne for herself, and she listened. She took a ward, Eric, and raised him with your ideals. Whether she fell in love again is a different question, I don't know the answer to that."

Arthur nodded, shell-shocked. The tears would come later, once he'd had time to internalise just what he had lost. His face looked as pale as the sheets he was resting against.

"And the knights?" he asked.

"You outlived Gwaine, I'm afraid," Merlin said darkly, "Percival died in battle a few years after you, but most of them enjoyed long and happy lives."

"But they're all long gone now. A thousand years, you said?"

"And a half," he confirmed, "Yes, they are all gone. I am all that is left. I'm sorry."

Arthur covered his face with the hand Merlin wasn't holding. His breathing was irregular, and he shook a little.

"Well," he mumbled when he had gotten his senses back, "I suppose you are better than nothing."

Merlin grinned at him.

"I appreciate your regard."

Arthur smiled back, to the best of his ability.

"As I've come to understand it, having you by my side isn't little at all. Without you, who knows what would have become of me."

"Well, you'd have died a lot more, that's for sure."

"I'm being serious," Arthur insisted, and the hand Merlin was holding finally gripped his in return, "If I could choose anyone to wake up to after all this time, it's you I would have chosen."

Merlin patted Arthur's hand.

"All these years… I would gladly wait a thousand more, if that's what it would take to see you again."

He rose from his seat at the bedside and went to pick up his bag. The hotel rooms were modest in size, and it was far from a luxurious establishment. But they did manage to supply each of their guests with a table, and he had discarded his things there. From the bag, he extracted some modest, but fashionable garments.

"I brought you some clothes. The fabric and make will be unfamiliar, but it is easy to get used to. When you feel ready to get up and move about I can dress you, like I did in the old days. I have a flat waiting in London - I don't suppose we ever went there, did we? We'll have to go by car this time, of course. You will like those, they're terrifying. Faster than you would believe, and frightfully dangerous things. Right up your alley. You always seemed to like things that threatened to kill you and take you away from…"

The trembling of his hands made the shirt he was unfolding shiver, ripples spreading like they would on a puddle under the breeze. He laid it back down on the table instead, which he proceeded to lean against.

"You will be fine, Arthur," he said after a few deep breaths, and turned around, "It will take time, and it will be difficult, but you will be fine. We will be fine."

From the bed, Arthur could do nothing but nod.


	2. Chapter 2

It was Gwyneth Wayne's sorry task to tell Eliane Smithson that Lance Lackey was dead. It was not a pleasant thing to inform a friend of another friend's passing, but she was being pragmatic about it - it would be better for Ellie to hear it from her than from some stranger of a doctor. Unfortunately, Gwynne's plan was being foiled by Ellie's failure to wake up - she was still unconscious in a hospital room. Gwynne had nothing better to do than to wait for Ellie to wake up, but the only result of that plan was that she was not awake either when the stranger arrived.

A well worn boot nudged the chair that Gwynne was sleeping in, jolting her from her dreamland and back into alertness. She blinked at the man towering over her a couple of times, and then said, "You'd better have a good reason for interrupting my sleep. I was having a dream about eating a cheese that tasted of apple pie."

The stranger looked absolutely astonished by that statement, although by the logic of dreams, that was not a particularly astonishing thing to have happened.

"You're miss Wayne, I presume?"

"That's me, yes. Gwyneth Wayne."

The man apparently found this funny, because his face broke into a grin, and he laughed. He was quite pretty when he laughed, and it broke the tension, so Gwynne laughed along with him, although she was unsure what was so funny.

"Who are you?" she asked after a while. "You don't look like a doctor. Are you police?"

"Good question," he said, "I am neither of those things, though I've acted as both on occasion. I've made sure the police stays out of this particular incident, I think you'll agree that's for the best. How about you tell me what happened to you and your friends?"

She eyed him suspiciously, making it no secret that his deflection had been noticed, but there was something persuasive about him that made her comply.

"We were sparring in the forest," she began, "Short arms. Medieval re-enactment, you know? Well, Ellie and I were fighting and Lance was observing when this bloke just showed up. His getup was well impressive, all black plate armour. Couldn't see his face. And his sword… This was a _real_ sword." She swallowed. "We stopped the fight to ask who he was, see if he wanted to practice with us… Well, he didn't, did he. He bore down on Lance immediately, he barely had time to lift his knife to defend himself. I'm sorry," she broke off, "You look so familiar. Do I know you?"

"I'm not sure," the man admitted, "Though I have a suspicion we might have known each other a long time ago."

"Right… Right, sorry. So, they fought. Lance was the best fighter I've ever known, but in the long run, he didn't have a chance. We scrambled to help him, but the armoured dude sliced right through him. There was… Blood…" she shivered and grimaced at the memory.

"It's alright. Take your time. I know death isn't as common a sight as it used to be."

This comment earned him raised eyebrows.

"Lance going down turned out to be our salvation. I knocked him over the head, and I think that surprised him, because when he turned, Ellie managed to wrest his sword from him. I pushed him, which took a lot more strength than you'd think, he didn't look that big even with the armour, but it was like shoving a mountain… She managed to get the sword in him, and then he just… Disintegrated. Into black smoke. The sword too, and then Ellie was down on the ground. The doctor's can't find anything wrong with her, but she's not woken up yet."

"Don't worry, she will be fine."

"Why am I not in prison? I mean, they found me next to a dead guy and an unconscious girl, with no-one to blame but a ghost. I know which conclusion I'd jump to."

"I told you; I've taken care of it. You're safe for now, although I would keep an eye open for other… Strange occurrences. If you should need any help with those, feel free to call me."

He handed her a business card. It was plain, white, with a number printed on it. No address, no company. Only the letter M served as identification.

"Likewise," she mumbled. The man grinned again, and Gwynne modified her assessment of that act from 'cute' to 'mildly terrifying.'

"I might just hold you to that."

* * *

When Merlin returned to the flat, Arthur was watching television. That was his main way of learning about this new world, and it had been working quite well once he'd gotten the hang of distinguishing between shows that portrayed a somewhat realistic setting, and shows that were made up fictions. It took some getting used to, but Arthur's skills of adaption were extraordinary - confused, of course, but massively excited about oddities like flush toilets and microwaves.

"I'm back," Merlin announced.

"Welcome home," came the reply. As he entered the living room, Arthur looked up with a blinding grin on his face. "I watched a film about me earlier," he imparted, "It was the strangest thing. I don't think I understood much of it."

"Ah." Merlin let gravity drag him down on the sofa next to Arthur and wriggled free a piece of the yellow mush that was laying on a plate on the coffee table. "You know, I don't think it's entirely necessary to microwave pineapple slices. Which film was it? The one where you're a kid and I'm a loony old man, the one where Gwen and I are painted blue, or the one where you're sent to find a shrubbery?"

"The one with the shrubbery. It was funny. I think. It left me rather confused."

"That's what it does to most people. Sadly, it's also one of the more accurate ones."

"Are you serious? There were police officers. _Police officers._ I an assure you, should your memory be failing, we never encountered any of those back in the day."

Merlin chuckled. For some reason, Arthur didn't seem to trust the modern systems of law and order. They watched some inane advertisements in silence until Arthur tore his gaze away from the screen to look at his companion.

"What's marriage equality?" he asked. Merlin nearly choked on a piece of tepid pineapple. "I'm sorry, is that an awkward question, perhaps?"

"No, no," Merlin answered, wiping his mouth, though his cheeks had pinked a little, "Not at all, just unexpected, that's all."

"Well, there was a news item on where the term kept being repeated as a vital issue, but they failed to explain what kind of issue it was. Normally I can understand these new things from their context, but this time, no such luck."

When it came to modern words, Arthur was unexpectedly proficient. He had awoken already speaking the vernacular, though some words denoting very recent _concepts_ were foreign to him. Already on the journey home, Merlin had asked what he made of the word '_wanhogan_,' and thrown his head back in near hysterical laughter when Arthur said it sounded like a magic spell.

"Well, marriage equality is simply the right for people to marry whomever they want. Specifically, for men to be able to marry men and women to be able to marry women."

"Right. That sounds… Odd."

"I know. A thousand odd years and people still aren't allowed to love freely. Man moves slowly."

Arthur furrows his brow and looks pensive.

"I'm glad we didn't have that, marriage equality, in Camelot," he concludes.

"Really? What, does it make you uncomfortable."

"Not exactly," Arthur said, taking his time, evidently weighing his words and figuring out his position as he went along, "It just sounds very complicated. How would people produce heirs? And besides, it's hard enough to find a suitable woman to marry even without being distracted by… Well, too much choice isn't always a good thing."

Merlin was chuckling again, and it was Arthur's turn to look slightly bashful.

"I suppose there is a point in there, somewhere, but this is a different world, remember. The restrictions of the past are being broken left, right and centre. As for reproduction, well, that's not nearly as important as it used to be. Keeping the species alive is hardly an issue. Besides, they have found alternative ways to create children."

"That sounds sinister to me."

"Don't worry," Merlin got up and ruffled Arthur's hair before reaching to pick up a mobile phone that had been tossed haphazardly on the edge of the table. "I won't traumatise you with the details of test tubes quite yet. It's a perfectly lovely concept, but you're evidently not ready. Now, what do you say to some pizza?"

* * *

When Arthur didn't watch programs on the TV, he spent quite some time looking out the window. Merlin had, unprompted, advised him not to venture out on his own, and he had grumbled, but never showed any true wish to go outside. Peering out at the world, though, was part of his adjustment. The night preceding this particular bout of staring had been a bad one for nightmares. He had been stuck in one of those hospital institutions that they brought sick people to nowadays, and he had been trying to find Merlin, who had, presumably, taken ill. But no-one would tell him where Merlin was, and the corridors were stretching and winding into a labyrinth, illuminated by that strange, modern light that made his eyes hurt. He ran into blank-faced doctors and nurses, and claimed to be Merlin's employer, friend, husband, brother, any meaningful relation he could think of, and still no-one would help. He had woken up soaked in sweat and disorientated and ran straight into Merlin's room to check if he was still there. He couldn't sleep again in his own room, so he had fallen asleep there, in a chair. When he woke up, Merlin was gone, but his duvet was wrapped closely around Arthur.

The door opened and closed somewhere behind him.

"Hi, Arthur!" Merlin's voice called out.

"Hi," Arthur replied.

"You alright?"

"Yes. Sorry about last night, by the way. I shouldn't have woken you up like that, it was rather weak of me. It was just a dream. But… Well, you are the only thing I've got left now, Merlin. I can't stand the thought of losing you, too."

Merlin's hand squeezed his shoulder.

"I'm not going anywhere." Then he abruptly changed the subject. "Have you heard of reincarnation?"

"Um, yes, it's when people believe they can come back after death as beetles or horses or something, isn't it?"

"Yes. Or as another human being."

"It sounds highly unlikely to me."

"Says the man who slept in a lake for close to fifteen hundred years after dying of an enchanted stab wound."

"Point taken."

"I didn't believe in it either, but I have come across some interesting… _Findings_ lately."

He handed Arthur a sheet of paper with some names and initials on it. Arthur frowned.

"Gwaine?" he read.

"It says G. Wayne, actually," Merlin corrected, "But yes, I do believe that's him. And E. Smithson is Elyan. L. Lackey, Lancelot. It must be then; can see no other explanation."

"How queer," mumbled Arthur, squinting at the paper and running his finger along the writing, as if touching the names would make it clearer to him how these were his old comrades.

"It gets stranger. Gwaine and Elyan appear to be women now."

"Women?" this did confuse Arthur.

"Yes. All the same except definitely female. Lancelot appears to have been a man. I can't seem to find a pattern."

"Have been?"

"Yes. He's dead."

"Oh. That's… A shame. I should have liked to see him again."

"Even after all that happened?"

"That was a long time ago. I forgave Guinevere, I can forgive him, too."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"How did he die this time?"

"He died… Strangely. That's the only word for it. His death is how I found them in the first place - they were attacked by a mysterious spectre in full plate armour." this made Arthur raise his eyebrows. "Lance died fighting, but they managed to overpower it, and it vanished in a puff of smoke. There is magic here, Arthur. Things are moving that haven't been in motion since you were king of Camelot. Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon, he said you would return when Albion's need was greatest. It is evident that you were brought back for a reason, and that reason is approaching. We're going to need these knights," he gestured at the paper still in Arthur's hand, "And any others we can come across. But there you have it; you are not alone. And I'm not all you've got. I don't know what's going to happen, but we'll be ready. We'll be ready when it comes."

* * *

It was evening, and Merlin and Arthur were cooking. Merlin had insisted that Arthur learn to cook, because in the twenty-first century nobody kept servants running around doing every single bloody thing for them. Arthur had countered that in the twenty-first century there was such a thing as takeout, and the fortune that Merlin had saved up over the years was substantial enough to make sure frugality was unnecessary. The discussion had gone Merlin's way eventually, something that seemed to be a recurring tendency, about which Arthur expressed some worry.

Merlin was about halfway through cutting the third out of four carrots when he caught on to the fact that there was no sound of movement behind him. He laid down his knife and turned to face Arthur, who for a while had stood there, quite still, watching him.

"What?" Merlin asked suspiciously.

Arthur placed one hand on either side of his face and kissed him. Merlin immediately pulled away.

"Arthur," he warned, his voice shaking. "Don't. Please don't."

Arthur stepped back, too. His face wavered between surprise and hurt, as if it wasn't sure which expression to fall into. The result was a sort of emotional limbo, to which Merlin responded with hurried explanations.

"I know that this age has opened a few doors to you, and I think it's great that you're trying new things. But even though I realise you don't have many options of people to try with, I have to ask you not to do this to me. I can't be your experiment, Arthur. I care about you too much. To have you only for… It would be too close. That would break me."

"Only for what?"

Merlin didn't answer. He shook his head and made to return to his carrots, but Arthur rolled his eyes and grabbed his shoulders.

"And you say _I'm_ overbearing," he muttered. Then he said, apropos of nothing, "I can remember the first time we met, you know. Clear as day. You were an insolent upstart, a big-mouthed country bumpkin that came out of nowhere. I wouldn't have egged you on if I hadn't so wanted to touch you… I didn't know why, I just…" his left arm slid from Merlin's shoulder to his elbow. "I think I knew already how much I was going to need you. I've always needed you since then. _Wanted_ you, though I'd never admit it. I do remember when I first woke up, what I said. And it's true. If I could have anyone, I'd choose you, always. I don't want you to be an experiment. Yes, you're right, doors have opened. Things are different now. I can allow myself to know how I feel about you, and to give it a name. To call it love. I love you, Merlin. I always have and always will."

Merlin hadn't moved since Arthur started talking. Now he lifted his hand to Arthur's face.

"I love you too," he whispered.

"Good."

Arthur pulled him into a tight hug.

"But… You were married."

"If anyone knew, it would have been her. She both loved and pitied me; I could never figure out which feeling was stronger."

Merlin buried his face in the crook of Arthur's neck, still shaking.

"I'm crying again. I'm sorry. It's overwhelming, I never thought… I was content to live in your shadow. I didn't expect to have this. Sorry."

"You do have me. There's nothing to apologise for."

He kissed him again, and this time Merlin kissed back, clinging to him almost with desperation.

"I love you," he whispered against Arthur's lips, into his skin, his hair. "I love you, I love you, you absolute prat." Arthur laughed, joyful and uninhibited. With his hands well inside Arthur's shirt, Merlin sighed with annoyance. "We couldn't have done this after dinner? I'm not about to leave a half cooked meal lying around and going to waste, but all of a sudden there are plenty of other activities that seem more tempting."

"Such impatience," Arthur scolded playfully, gently pulling away from Merlin.

"Well, yes. My great, unattainable love has just been proved not so unattainable, at the back end of nearly fifteen hundred years of celibacy. I think I'm allowed a bit of impatience."

That statement was enough to pull Arthur back to his previous activity of marking Merlin's neck with kisses, but he composed himself soon enough.

"Dinner first," he mumbled.

"Trust you to choose this moment to suddenly act like a gentleman."

But in spite of his grumbling, Merlin smiled wider than he had for as long as he could remember when he returned to the carrots. Although, finishing that dinner took quite a lot longer than it might have.

~End


End file.
